He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. "Another such attempt," said the latter, "and you are a dead man. ” “Ay,” he repeated, looking away from her. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. “You are wrong! I did not think you thought such things.
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